


Netherlands

by Laeana



Series: ∂ead нearts [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst and Tragedy, Blood, Cheating, Despair, Established Relationship, Friendship, Hurt, Jos Verstappen's A+ Parenting, Kings & Queens, Loss of Faith, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, M/M, Married Life, Memories, Mental Breakdown, Moral Dilemmas, Murder Thoughts, Past Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Swordfighting, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: In the court of the Italian King, a lot of rumors are whispered.It is especially said that this one cheats on his husband, the Netherland's Prince, with the Prince of Monaco.But for Max, whose crowning is approaching, the destiny takes another turn when he has to make a Cornelian choice. His life or the one of Daniel ?
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo, Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Series: ∂ead нearts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889596
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. farewell, youth

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Pays-Bas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564392) by [Laeana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NI-e50bBARg
> 
> the edit i made for this fic ...  
> I must say there is not guarantee about the era, i would have said somewhere during the XVI century, but this is not really important here x)

Dreams ... he had a lot of them. He wonders where they have all been. Since he was young, since he knew Daniel, since he fell in love with him, he dreamed of marrying him. The alliance between their countries brought the perfect opportunity and at 20 years old he was overjoyed.

Where did that boy go ? A boy who hadn’t been confronted with cruel reality, with the rivalries of the prince of Monaco, so handsome. He watches the silent city from the terrace, tired of keeping a bed that does not see his husband return.

He stands up, closing the book he has barely opened, and goes inside. His cold anger is barely contained as he pulls on a jacket. When he leaves the room, the servant at the door is more than surprised.

— R-Royal Highness? Aren't you waiting for your husband? I thought he told you that-

— I'm going out. I'm going to see a friend.

— What should I tell the King if he is looking for you?

— That he can go fuck himself and that there is no point in making promises if he prefers to break them by being with his strumpet.

He goes down the big stairs, walks through the corridors he knows by heart. So many broken dreams, so much love he was able to give without it being returned to him and the haunting thought that he is not good enough.

— His Highness does me the honor of his visit !

— Shut up, Pierre. And stop calling me like that; I feel as much a highness as a man seduced, silly and disappointed. Once again.

The Frenchman gives him a smirk, conciliatory, and hands him his drink.

— I hope it's strong.

— Vodka. From Russia.

He takes a sip and grimaces as he feels the bitterness, the warmth sliding down his throat with difficulty.

— Effectively.

He drinks the container down, setting the crystal flat on the table. His companion offers him a concerned glance.

— Did it go wrong ?

— It didn't happen. Not even there.

— Ah. With Charles I guess.

The older one filles their two glasses with the same liquid before raising the latter, a wry but brief smile on his face.

— To our disappointed hearts.

Another sip.

— Where does this vodka come from ?

— Dany sent it to me directly from his personal cellars.

He hisses in admiration. Pierre has formed such ties with the Russian monarch that they send each other gifts ? Impressive. He just knows they correspond, doesn't know anything more.

After the third glass, he stops counting. Torn between a state where he is lucid and no longer so, he laughs a lot, for not much. His gaze is lost in the void. There is a question on his lips that he finds it hard to ask.

— Have you ever wanted to die ?

The other prince stops for a moment, seeming to take his time to think and he understands it. It’s not an easy question.

— I don’t know.

— Generally, it’s something on which we are unanimous. Either you wanted it, thought about it, or never.

— So I guess it’ll be a yes.

A dry laugh escapes from his lips. He knows how to recognize broken souls when he sees them. He lives with a dead heart by excellence.

— Talk to me, Max.

— About what ?

— Dark and often shameful secrets. Of a way to keep you alive.

He sighs, runs his fingers over the glass, causing little tinkles that sound rather sweet to his ears.

— My father is going to die. He’s ill. And it makes me weird not to be more saddened than that. But he was horrible, you know ? The cruelest punishment, all the abuse, and sometimes I still feel his hands around my throat.

A deep breath, he traces the contours of his neck, the phantom traces that dot his skin, remembers, remembers with the same terror as the child he was.

— Now I'm normal. No one will have known and will never know because it is not fit for a ruler. The almost erased scars bear witness to this. I thought I was free but I have no future.

— Your Highness, mail for you !

Lando, mischievous, throws him a letter. For a moment, he wonders if the youngest one heard it but the latter, smiling, doesn’t let anything show through. He hides his discomfort.

— I'm still Max for you. And thank you.

— I know, it's just fun like that.

Even Pierre smiles.

He takes the envelope, turns it over and frowns upon seeing his family's royal seal. It’s never good. After opening it, he browses the first few lines.

— So, Maxy, good news ?

He doesn’t answer. His reading becomes more frantic and ends. And he can't believe it. He stands up with difficulty, needing air, staggering, knocking his chair down. In his own unease, he doesn't even notice the door has opened.

— Ah, Max, there you are. I was looking for you everywhere, are you-

He dodges Daniel like an obstacle in his path, runs a hand through his hair, fleeing the room. He can't believe it, doesn't want to believe it. He doesn't want this to be true. His pace is accelerating. His breathing too.

— Max, what's going on ? Talk to me !

Why is his king so stubborn after spending so much time with Charles rather than him ? Why did his life always have to turn out this way ?

— Max !

His husband grabs his wrist to stop him in his tracks. He is stopped, out of breath, his eyes fleeing, tears in the corners of his eyes.

— Please ? What's wrong ? Is it the fact that I-

— That what ? That you sleep with Charles ? Don't worry, seeing how long I've known about it, I've had time to get used to it. Don’t worry, you will not have to stop your debauchery ! It's not all about you, damn it, I- ...

His voice breaks. There are only a few lines in this letter. A few lines and his daily life will come to an end.

— I am sorry.

An apology will never erase all the hurt he has done to him. Sad to say. It is never in a few words that we forget such pain. This is not even the subject.

— I am not blind. I'll let you go with Charles if you're happier with him. I want your happiness.

Max turns, unable to face another minute. Daniel doesn't let go and hugs him from behind. The heat brought to him hurts his heart.

— And I want yours.

— I can’t believe this.

The kisses deposited on his neck make him fear to find a smell other than his on his man.

— Come on, let me show you what I had planned for you.

He gets carried away and, maybe, it's a shame he's so weak. Too bad. A dinner, to the stars. Simple enough. But both know that with their place in the world, simplicity is what they can hope for the most.

No escapist life, no castle life. No gold, glitter, jewelry. No stakes on the table, from politics to major battles.

Something he thinks less of. But he did it anyway. The war. Killing people, having blood on their hands, fighting for their country. Warlord, renowned, recognized for his anger, his ardor, his dangerousness and his impulsiveness.

He will never talk about it. He will prefer to forget it. Daniel puts his hand on his and gazes into his. Everything seems to disappear.

— I wanted to show you that you were special to me. Always.

A question burns his lips. On his infidelity. But he doesn't ask it. And they have a good evening. The dishes are delicious, he finds some flavors of childhood, of his country. Is surprised.

His husband went all out to please him. Throughout the meal, they exchange fiery glances, provocative sentences, and light touches.

Deep down, he knows well why such a game has taken hold, why the ardor of their early days seems to be here.

The first few days ... before the oldest one started to look elsewhere.

The Italian King is afraid of losing him, he has seen his pain so he does everything to keep him close to him. It won't last. It will only remain one evening, a few days of paradise before the fall.

Or hours.

— I'm going to have to be away for a few days soon. I have a diplomatic visit to pay.

He raises his eyebrows. Almost waiting for his companion to ask him to come with him. But since it doesn't happen, he frowns, having a doubt.

— Where ?

— At Monaco.

He withdraws his hand from Daniel's as if he had burned himself and stands up. He covers his mouth with one hand, feeling his happiness fade away and a vice of despair grip his heart deeper.

— Wait, Max, that's not what you think !

— What am I supposed to think ? That you are going on a "purely diplomatic" visit to Monaco, the very same place where your lover lives and that is only a coincidence ? That you couldn't have asked one of your emissaries to go there ?

He curses himself for being so impulsive. He curses himself for still being so sore. He curses himself for daring to hope too much despite the fact that he knew it wouldn't last.

— Or that you won't be by my side for what will surely be one of the most important events of my life ?

— One of the moments ...? What do you mean, Max ?

— Farewell, Daniel.

He leaves the table without waiting.

The next day, the entire palace is silent when he leaves the premises. It’s almost still dark. But the journey is long to the Netherlands.

— You were planning to go alone?

Max turns around. Pierre is leaning against one of the many columns in the entrance. He barely sees it.

— Yes.

The Frenchman stands out and advances towards him. The carriage is ready. The path is long, they limit the stops.

— You shouldn’t. The Netherlands ... are at war. And my father is at the bedside of death. This is the worst situation possible.

— All the more reason to accompany you.

— Are you sure ?

The older one doesn’t answer and is satisfied with a look. He smiles, impressed and amused.

They are two to embark. In this apparent loneliness, where, at least, they are only the two of them. He decides something he hasn't done with anyone else. To confess.

— I must kill Daniel or die. That's what's going to be imposed on me when I'm on the throne, Pierre. That's why I don't want to go there.

— Pardon me ?

He closes his eyes, remembering everything that was announced to him the very minute his father fell ill. Where he had shown his first signs of weakness.

— It's Alex and George who came to tell me. They represent all the advisers. They are doing this for the good of all countries. So that the alliance remains.

— It's not possible ... does it have to do with the state of the Netherlands?

He laughs bitterly.

— Close to civil war, yes. They say the people will find it difficult to put up with a ruling gay leader. That I couldn't have descendants. Plus the fact that people are starting to get fed up with my family. And the external war.

All bad news after all. Everything he could inherit: unhappiness and despair. A too heavy crown. A deadly crown.

— My rise to power would cause the rupture if the situation remained as it is. So, either I separate myself definitively from Daniel, or it is I who disappears to make way for my cousin.

— This is not true. Isn't there another solution ? We still have time to find one.

— I don’t know. I have lost the will to fight, I think.

He will face his fate. The dagger or the poison ? The same question in his mind. The feeling of no longer wanting to live, of not being able to breath.

— You asked me for a way to keep myself alive, Pierre. I'm sorry but I don't have one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just glad to be able to share this translation with you ! :))  
> I'll try to do as fast as possible ...
> 
> tumblr's laeana if you have any questions or if you just want to talk, always available !


	2. what i want you to say

Silence keeps the rest of the trip.

That lasts a week.

Max has time to think of everything. Of all his life. His eyes are lost in the passing landscapes. Until he recognized his house. His home. The entrance to his palace, in which he has not set foot for too long.

— Oh, Prince, how happy to see you again ! Come quickly, your father is waiting for you.

One of the maids leads him. Pierre is on his heels, keeping a certain distance.

On the threshold of the door, he takes a deep breath. His legs become limp. He almost collapses on the chair near the bed.

The condition of his father is worse than before, pale, choppy breathing, difficult, as if each additional second to live was costing him.

— M-Max ...

He takes his trembling hand in his, the realization suddenly hitting him.

His last close family. After the accident of the carriage of his mother and his sister which had resulted in their deaths both.

— I wanted to tell you. I treated you harshly because ... because ...

The King pauses to cough violently.

— I wanted to toughen you up ... I wanted to make you suspicious ... that you could always be protected ... from conspiracies. Your mother ... didn't want that. I didn't want ... you to accede to the throne.

To feel like a child again. A feeling that he missed a lot. He feels sobs blocking his throat just when he really needs his voice.

— I knew what you would have to do ... if you went up there ... so I didn't want to ... inflict it on you. I'm sorry ... that's no excuse but ... you're all I have left.

— Hush. Don't talk anymore. You must ... you must ...

He is suffocating in this room. Memories hit him hard. His childhood seems to pass before his eyes.

— I'm sorry ... to leave you alone. I love you.

A lonely tear rolls down her his cheek. His gaze freezes, glassy. His breathing stops.

It's as if ... as if he had fought against death, only waiting to see him again to let go.

— You always had a knack for drama. Damn it. Fuck !

He closes the eyes of the deceased. Gets up with difficulty. He leaves the room.

Isolate himself in the living room to calm his breathing. What should he do now ? What is he supposed to do ?

Time is passing. He doesn't know how much is going on. When he comes to himself, the void in his chest has not been filled. He feels terribly alone. This declaration of love blown from the lips, at the end of a breath. The last. The only.

— Max.

George. He looks up. It hurts him to want to hate someone he has loved, known.

— Yes ?

— The council of war meets. You have to be present of course.

— Ok, I ... very well.

He gets up, takes a deep breath. Does not feel to admit the responsibility which has just been given to him, is not lucid. The crown already weighs too much. He doesn't realize yet, still feels like a prince. Child. Eyes turn to him as soon as he enters the room. He recognizes the generals, the allies. So many people he has never had to meet.

Pierre attends exceptionally the meeting, further, and offers him a soft smile, to comfort him. And suddenly he is in front of this table, this card, and everything disappears.

— Give me a summary of the situation. In full.

His tactical mind seems to activate and return. His time spent with Daniel has rusted him a bit, but he can see clearly. With an iron fist, he rules the battlefield.

— I'll be on the front line.

— What ?! You're the king now, you can't afford to-

— Exactly. The troops need to see that we are on their side. How can you claim to be a leader when you hide behind the Allied lines ? I’ll go there.

— Do you even still know how to fight ?

He glares at the advisor who asked this question. His sword skills have always been unquestionable and they doubted it now. What were they scared of ? That his "idyll" made him forget the war ?

— I would pass this sentence off as ignorance and not provocation or your head might end up on a spike. None of you have anything to add ?

At best, he will be recognized and respected by his soldiers. At worst, he will die and his problems will at least be solved.

— Good. Remember that this is an assault that will be launched during dawn.

He turns around, leaves the room. Pierre catches up with him, almost running after him, his stride is really fast.

— Max, do you realize what you chose to do ?

— Do you also doubt me ?

— No. Of course not. I know you a little too well on that part but shouldn't you warn Daniel ?

He stops short at this evocation. He hasn't forgotten him, how can I forget him ? He just preferred not to think about it.

— Why ? He’s in Monaco, he probably lives there very well.

The Frenchman lowers his eyes. He bites his lip, feeling a little guilty for being so bitter. His friend doesn't deserve this.

— You should forget about Charles.

— I can't, Max. Just like you can't forget Daniel.

A sad smile escapes him. This sorrow blooming in his chest, the older one feels the same, except that for him there is the evocation of fatalism, of fate, hidden just behind these feelings. True love, the strongest. Perhaps the one and the last.

— Will you be by my side during this battle ? Isn't it too much to ask you to be with me ?

— I'll meet you there. I have one thing to do first.

Max nods. Walks away. Hangs out in the long dark corridors of his childhood. An austere childhood, fleeing his father and looking for his mother, his sister. And, when they were gone, to look for an escape. His eyes close. He remembers ...

He is seventeen. He walks. No. He's running. Always further. Tears are running down his cheeks. He never gave himself the opportunity to cry when the accident happened. Even in front of their graves. He just couldn't do it. In front of his father.

Impassive.

Sobs escape him.

But this was too much. He tried to strangle him. Strangle him !

His throat hurts. The words reverberate in his ears. His weakness. Disavow of himself. Arrived in the outer courtyard, the one overlooking the forest, he drops to his knees near the fountain. His hands flat on his thighs.

Pain. This feeling of being young and having too many responsibilities. Everything weighs on him. His heart grew cold.

— Hey, are you all right ?

He doesn’t know this person. He tries to wipe his eyes quickly, to make himself look more dignified. He's the prince here after all.

— But you are-

Daniel Ricciardo. King of Italy. He’s twenty five at the time and to him he’s the most beautiful man he has ever seen.

— Prince ? I haven't seen you yet. I'm-

— Daniel Ricciardo. The King of Italy. I know.

He turns around, sniffling. Not liking the air he gives this man. Feeling ridiculous in a way, totally ridiculous.

— You should go back inside, your majesty. I am sure my father will be delighted to welcome you.

— I don't think I can leave someone so sad alone.

He hears the older man's footsteps as he walks around him before putting a hand on his cheek. So soft.

— Even more so someone with such pretty eyes.

He feels himself blushing. The feeling of experiencing something forbidden. Come on, getting hit on ? Him ?

— You ... you ... why ?

— Are you that surprised to see someone who cares about you ? Prince, do you think you're not entitled to that kind of attention ?

— Max. Call me Max.

A frank smile is born on the lips of his interlocutor.

— All right, Maxy, okay. Can you tell me why you were crying ?

He shrugs his shoulders. He can’t yet confide in this stranger, this man hardly met, who will take on great importance for him. It’s complicated.

— Problems like everyone else ?

— I'm not sure it makes so many tears. You are young, it doesn’t matter. You shouldn't be ashamed to cry, especially not in front of me.

— I'm the future king of here !

It's frustrating. The way he feels regarded by Daniel makes him in a bad mood. And his father's words echo it.

— To show my tears is to show my weakness. I can't be so weak.

— Weak ? You don't seem to be. For seeing you on the battlefield and hearing your exploits, you are anything but weak. Look at me ?

Something in this man's voice makes him obey. So calm, tender. He looks up to plunge his irises into those of the older one. Browns.

— My dear lion. From today you will never have to hide your tears in front of me, okay ? If you need anything, talk to me, write to me. I will listen to you.

He dives into the arms of the Australian who tightens the embrace. This one proposes to be his friend, a true friend. Right now that's what he needs. Amidst the storms, ups and downs that he constantly experiences.

They spend a lot of time together. Whenever possible. They don't live next door after all but as soon as they can see each other ... in Italy, where Daniel personally wants him to come and show him everything about his country. Or in the Netherlands, where he is also the host. Or in other countries, when meetings of rulers are held.

He has rivals, he knows it, but he doesn't care. It's a bit ridiculous to get into this kind of rivalry with Charles of Monaco, but he can't help it.

He fell in love stupidly, foolishly, so easily. He fell in love and it was too easy because someone just had to be nice to him for him to be charmed.

But it's not just that. Daniel isn't just nice, he's smart, lovable, incredibly funny and silly and clear-sighted. His heart warms. On his eighteenth birthday, his father begins to talk to him about marriage and he’s embarrassed.

— It would have to be someone high up.we need it to form an alliance. For the moment, there is no rush, I'll give you time to watch.

— Girls and boys ?

The king nods and he’s surprised. A lot of concessions are made and it's strange. Gender doesn’t matter ?

— Do you have someone in mind ?

— I don't know if it's possible.

— Well, you better hurry. The people will eventually grow impatient as well. I'll give you a margin but I'll choose for you at the end if I have to. You are a little over a year old.

Max just shrugs. He’s used to being put to the test, being under probation. He has a little hope, but doesn't know if it’s true. The Italian monarch has never seemed insensitive to his charm but from there to accept such a request ?

— Are you worried, is something wrong ?

— Pierre ?! Was your visit planned ?

— No, no, it was unexpected. I needed to leave France a bit, it was stifling.

A longtime friend. They are almost the same age, same thing, except that the situation of the oldest is slightly more precarious. He is his confidant from time to time. They are for each other. He talks to him about his situation again.

— Daniel ? Ricciardo ? I don't know. Beware of him, please. I know what he is, what he seems to be, but it's always deeper.

— Tell me everything.

— He's very libertine. You won't be the first to be drawn to him like a butterfly to a light. It's like that with everyone. You could be the first one he's serious with but it's not even sure.

He bites his lip. A year goes by and he turns around Daniel without anything specific happening between them. Painful. The worst happens when he is in France. Versailles. Meeting of embassies. He crosses paths with the Italian king in the company of Charles and seeing them slip away together is the worst thing he has ever seen.

Something sufficient escapes from the Monegasque when he looks at him, a sort of superiority, "I got him".

His nineteen years are coming sooner than expected. He didn’t find a replacement. It’s a year of controversy. He hears of a brief battle between Germany and the UK, a matter of lovers and broken hearts. Of not being enough. To have known Lewis and Sebastian it is surprising without being.

It's all over now.

The party is organized but he doesn’t want to immerse himself in it. He crosses Lando who waltzes on the arm of Carlos, the Spanish leader. He fears for the youngest one. He is a good friend and he is afraid for him. He tried to talk to George and Alex but they avoided him, he doesn't know why. He danced a bit with Pierre but the main one on the prince's arm was Charles.

He hopes the French will follow his own advice. Beware.

His father has toured several families, he knows that it is because he is looking for his future husband or wife. He grits his teeth, preferring to isolate himself on the terrace, to close his eyes. He leans against the railing and, finally, looks at the sky, truly magnificent.

— Aren't you partying ?

— No. It's impossible when my future is played a few meters away from me.

— A few meters ? Your father ? What does he want from you ?

— Wedding.

He runs a hand through his hair. Daniel moves closer to him, quite close, until their shoulders are touching.

— You don't want to get married ?

— But with who ? The first stranger who comes and who has a minimum of social rank ? I don't want a wedding like this.

— Haven't you enjoyed life enough ?

A bitter laugh escapes him. Laughable.

— I would have done my best. I just can't think of loving again, loving someone who doesn't understand all of this. I would never have what I want ...

The Italian king runs a hand over his face, turning it gently towards him, as always, their eyes meet. He doesn’t even manage to camouflage the sadness which inhabits him and which grips his heart.

— What do you want ?

They are so close to each other. He can feel his breath on his lips. He can't help but take a quick glance at it. Everything he ever hoped for.

— You.

A myriad of emotions jostle in the brown eyes that face him. He can’t understand them. Everything is happening too fast. Their kiss is sweeter than in his sweetest dreams.

— D-Daniel ... what does that mean ?

— Would you agree to marry me ? I who have traveled this far in search of an answer, to know if your heart, like mine, had been touched by Cupid's arrow.

The king grabbed one of his hands to kiss the back tenderly.

— Oh, Max, my handsome and brave stubborn prince, my lion. Will you make me the happiest of men by living with me, marrying me ?

— I ... yes ! Of course ! How ...

The older one put a finger to his lips to silence the question that was about to come out of his lips. His gaze is so confident.

— How not to fall in love with you instead.

The happiest day of his life. The most beautiful, the best, the worst. The trap he fell into by accepting this union.

How to think that the desires of his fiancé would be silent only because he is with him ?

Soon George and Alex returned to his side. But it was by no means a joy or a gift. They knew. Responsibilities.

Aware of everything. The people who would eventually rise up. Of his imminent seizure of power. When his father succumbs. Result in the final choice. That they haven’t explained to him yet, but which he suspected. A life for a life.

— Not too nervous ?

Pierre and Lando prepare him with big smiles on their faces. He has trouble staying assured, his costume seems to be heavy.

— I do not know. I ... oh. I can't believe he chose me. There were all these people circling around him.

He commits anyway. The older of the three bites his lip, looking uncomfortable. The Briton, meanwhile, is jumping for joy, just as impatient as if it were his own wedding.

— Do you think I could do the same ? Do you think I could marry Carlos ?

— You're still young, wait a minute, Lando. But if he wants you, then obviously the choice will be yours.

The youngest is hopping. A servant appears at the door. It's time. He walks down an alley to his groom. His father has a neutral look on his face. Daniel smiled at him gently, lovingly, as if to reassure him.

Their hands are tied.

Don't come undone. One in front of the other, he feels his stress melting in the brown eyes that face him. When their lips lie it's soft and suddenly it's Max Verstappen-Ricciardo.

His reflection in his sword sends him back the image of a man whom vanity and hopes have brought down. Pathetic.

He puts it away in its sheath. Recovers his costume, he thinks he will never get rid of the weight of this armada. His things with him. He removes his wedding ring from his finger, kisses it with a glance, before placing it on his bedside table.

He will come back.

Probably.

He just hadn't expected the fight to last this long. According to his plans, he either left for a quick siege that would last two days or less, or it stretched out and at that point he had to think more.

His plans turned out to be correct, he managed to anticipate several movements of the enemy. He has foiled most of the forces but the front remains violent, his life is never safe.

He trembles with cold and hunger in the mud. Avoid a blow and slit the throat of the one who walks in front of him. His rage gives him wings, his conscience allows him to avoid any imprudence and he regains his title of "prince from beyond the grave". Or king now. King.

Wild. Everything around him is only analysis. He tightens his grip on the pommel, grinding his teeth as he sees some of his opponents flee, a clear signal of retreat announced.

Eight days that he fights and it is the third battalion that he pushes back. His companions around him shout victory and he sees shining in their eyes the gratitude and satisfaction of having him by their side.

He puts his sword away, runs a hand through his sticky hair. He must look pretty badly, but he's feeling pretty tired. Tasks still await him.

He must return to the castle. In his house. Passing through town to the cheers of the people. He doesn’t lose sight of his objective, the war is not over. But they have a day before they return to the front lines. He must, he must ... Perform his duties. He doesn't want to think about his father, he mustn't think about it. It hurts ...

— My Prince. There you are already, you did it quickly.

— Has the council spoken ? I think we need to schedule a new meeting tonight or tomorrow. I had some ideas that I need to make known, I ...

Max continues to advance, he is emboldened by this sudden drop in adrenaline. Perhaps a little bruised, he begins to feel pain.

— You have guests, sir-

He pushes open the living room door just as the maid utters this sentence. He didn't expect it. Of course, Pierre told him that he was going to come back, but at this very moment, he did not expect to receive anyone.

He's still dirty, his clothes stained with dirt and blood, he just wants to change and wash.

Pierre is seated on the sofas. Charles is to his left and he sniffles when he sees him. Daniel, meanwhile, to his right, opens his eyes wide with concern when he notices his condition.

He sighs.

— What are you doing here ?

His husband gets up and comes to him quickly, putting a hand on his cheek, soft. It's tender, for a moment he forgets the others in the room.

— My God. Max, I was so scared. You are crazy to launch into such a war, why did you not tell me ? I'm sorry, mijn liefste.

It takes a lot to hear Daniel try a few words in broken Dutch but it is still Dutch. He shakes his head.

— Sorry for what ? You had more important things to do, I don't have to bother you with my own things.

— Our things. We are married, everything that happens to you concerns me too. If you were to die there, I couldn't take it, I ...

He kisses his partner's cheek before advancing further, his love is not stifling the contempt he feels for the person standing across the room.

— Well, since his highness has come this far, he will certainly give me the pleasure of explaining to me why some of our enemies say they are fighting for Monaco.

— I ... sorry ?

The Monegasque suddenly turns pale, seeming to hear about it for the first time. An ironic smile escapes him.

— On several occasions troops approaching the flag of Monaco have been seen on enemy lines. Don't you even know ?

Silence gives him the answer he needs.

— Too bad, it would have been funny if it had been one of your attempts to kill me. 

This sentence freezes all the occupants of the room, he takes the opportunity to withdraw.

He climbs the main stairs of the hall, gives some orders to his servants who nod and returns to his room.

He takes a deep breath.

His father's funeral will take place soon. He would have preferred to finish these fights before doing anything else. Someone's knocking at the door.

— Sir ?

— Yes ?

— I was talking to the council as you wanted. They proposed to meet tomorrow morning since it is already late today.

— Very well.

He hears the maid withdraw from behind the door. He carefully begins to remove his armor, piece by piece.

Someone enters his room again when he is shirtless.

— Maxy ...?

He turns. His chest has a few bruises, nothing serious. Daniel approaches him and touches his skin with the tips of his fingers. He shivers under the touch. That's right, how long has it been since they spent an intimate moment together ?

His king's arms wrap around his waist firmly, he obediently closes his eyes and lets go. Breathe in the scent of vanilla that escapes from the skin of his companion.

— My King, my little King. I'm sorry I didn't know what was going on. I'll stay with you, okay ? I will fight by your side.

— Are you sure you're not too old for that, Liefde ? I wouldn't want you to slow me down in-

— Hey ! I would point out to you that I am an excellent warrior, ungrateful little one !

— And when was the last time you fought ?

His husband mumbles a vague answer that is muffled in his shoulder.

He is happy, a little. Happy because he is always able to spend such moments. He just doesn't want to think about the aftermath. It scares him so.

The end of happy days, he doesn't want that to happen. He wants to stay forever in his partner's arms, never to leave him. He loves him so much.

Slowly, very slowly, he began to tremble in the arms of his companion who tightened the embrace around him.

— What’s wrong ? You know you can tell me anything, liefste.

Daniel plunges his gaze into his. So understanding, so attentive, so tender. He melts almost immediately and those words could leave his lips if he didn't decide to hold it back.

No.

He snuggled a little closer against the King of Italy, who sighed as he stroked his hair.

— Hey ... Dan. If I were to disappear, can you promise me that you would move forward anyway and that you would find your happiness ?

— Did anyone threaten you, Maxy ? If anyone wants to hurt you, I swear that-

— No ! No, listen. Promise me ... it doesn't matter if it's with Charles, I don't care ! I just want you to be able to go on living even though I'm no longer here.

Silence falls on them. The older man grips his wrists to force him to look at him. They remain in this position for a few moments, his breathing choppy, interrupted by half-sobs.

— Listen to me. I don't plan on living without you, okay ? Even if we were to be separated, I would always find you. Because I love you, Max Verstappen-Ricciardo. You and nobody else.

He bites his lip but fails to fight back the tears that come to his eyes. This last name which signifies his belonging, this assurance.

He doesn't have the heart to tell his husband that he wanted to say something more definitive. Think that the other knows it but prefers to ignore it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The origin of a whole relationship, the explanation of why the love of Max for Daniel is so strong and some reunions. The war isn't over and Max still hasn't made his choice, some things are yet to come for this third and last part of the Netherland's side ...


	3. and i choose my own end.

And they're both good at this game. Trying to pretend everything is fine.

The Italian king pulls back, removing his clothes, before pulling him to him on the bed.

— Come on, a long day awaits you tomorrow, you need to sleep.

For the first time in long nights, they sleep together. He didn't remember the warmth or the comfort it provided and he wakes up having had a much better sleep than his times alone.

Regulated like a clock, he gets up, gets dressed. Someone's knocking at the door.

— My King, the council will meet soon ? Would you like lunch or would you-

— I'm going to meet the council. I will not eat this morning, tell others to take care of guests first.

— Understood.

He finished fastening his belt and his sword before sitting down on the edge of the bed. There, his love sleeps peacefully.

He runs a hand through his curls before kissing his cheek.

— Max ...?

He smiles.

— I'll see the advisors, you can go back to sleep if you want.

— Mmh no. I'll meet you in the room, I'll slow you down otherwise.

He hums in response, glances around to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything, and walks out of his room.

He turns, however, when he hears the bed creaking slightly, a sign that his husband has just got up.

He can’t help but detail his body, this body which is his, with envy, doing violence to think of something else.

— You are forgetting something, my lion.

Daniel smiles as he feels his gaze and moves closer to him before grabbing his left hand and putting the ring on his finger, like the first day. He feels himself blush.

— Well, it's better like that.

He took it off in excess of anger and didn't even put it back on his own.

— Go now, don't be late !

Max nods, walking towards the door, before immediately stepping back, catching up with his man and kissing him deeply, leaving them breathless.

— Is this a promise dear King of the Netherlands ?

— Maybe, so find a way not to break it this time.

— I would not miss that.

Getting back into the swing of things after such a good awakening is difficult. But he must not show himself weak in front of this assembly of advisers, all seeming ready to gain the upper hand at the slightest weakening.

After a good hour, they leave the room. The last arrangements are good, the front will resume and, at best, they will repel the attack until it is finished. He doesn't expect to find Charles, leaning against a pillar, waiting for him.

— What are you doing here ?

He continues to move forward, he has other priorities. The Monegasque follows him closely.

— I will come with you to the battlefield. I will be by your side.

— Sorry ?

— If they are really on the Monaco side, as you say, it is my duty to stop them directly. I can't stand the idea of an attack on an ally, it doesn't even make sense.

A flame shines at the bottom of the pupils of the youngest. They got so used to clashing. A dark smile marks his face.

— I guess I can't refuse such help.

— Effectively.

What insolent.

He really hates him. He would like to tear that smile from his pretty face with his bare hands and then strangle that uncovered throat, staining the ivory with a bloody blue. He was the one who ruined his marriage, after all.

Was it so surprising ? He doesn't really know. Pierre had warned him, he had kept these warnings in the back of his mind. But that doesn't mean it didn't literally break his heart to find out.

He thought Daniel would respect him more than that, he thought it would be different for him, because it was a hell of a wedding after all.

How wrong can we be ?

He heard the rumors before seeing it with his own eyes. Words that went from word to ear, the King of Italy who had been seen with the Prince of Monaco, in rather ... intimate affairs.

He refused to believe it until he came across a completely true scene. Daniel and Charles, half-naked, in one of the private rooms. Two days before his birthday.

Oh sure, his husband had run after him, caught up with him to "explain" to him. There was nothing to explain. Everything had been proven to him, he stopped being forever innocent, forever reckless, and finally fell into the harsh truth.

Sad to say. Daniel broke something inside him, perhaps a childish hope. More than anything, he lost the majority of his confidence. He no longer wanted to believe the pretty lies that were served to him on a silver platter and threw himself into other business to distract himself.

Perhaps he no longer had the favors of the one he loved so much, now he was content to just be his husband, because that was supposed to be enough for him.

Dispel his misfortune. He had gone into politics, had masterfully managed Italy and had strengthened several agreements. The war didn't even scare him, neither did death.

Impassive, irremediable, unreasonable.

His fate was then announced to him. He understood the irony of dying for the only man he had loved and the only one who had hurt him so much.

Or ...

Or he’ll kill him with his own hands. He would put an end to whatever ordeal he had had the patience, or the cynicism, to endure and stop looking for love where there was none. Quite simply stopped being disappointed.

— Max ?

Thus said blinks. He diverged without realizing it. He was exposing the situation to the three royal gentes who were at his side.

— I think I'm done.

— I think there would have been a lot of ways to do it. And it would have been less dangerous. It's almost like you're looking for high risk.

He brushes aside Charles's opinion with a wave of his hand, little interested after all. So what ? If he is looking for risk, that is his business.

— Maxy, for once I agree with-

— I'll lay out the plan to you so that you know what you have to do in my battles. It has already been decided, there is no point in contesting it.

He's freezing and concentrates at his best. The presence of the Monegasque leader makes him irritable. Daniel's words even more. "For once", not true. What an irony. Pierre smirked absently, as if he hadn't just told them he didn't care what they thought.

— Then I'll be by your side, like last time.

— What ? But Pierre, it's with me that you should-

The youngster's sudden panic is almost laughable, when you consider that most of the time he rejects the Frenchman feelings for him.

— I wouldn't be against it, of course. Remembering the good old days ?

— Always.

— My god, with this kind of sentences it almost seems that you have lived more than me, that is to say !

He nudges his husband who laughs softly, placing a kiss on his cheek. The atmosphere relaxes despite Charles who is visibly concerned about the situation.

He relishes these moments, these taking sides during which his rival is so, so left out. Without telling him that he would rather throw himself on a blade than let Pierre die before his eyes.

And later, on the battlefield, he almost does.

— Pierre !

Just in time. His sword is planted in the heart of the attacker who freezes and falls to the ground. He breathes, out of himself, the fear almost there. He only half realizes.

— Thank you !

The French kicks behind him and another enemy crumbles. They exchange a smile and stand back to back, prepared for other eventualities.

After so much time spent fighting, they don't know how much, with fatigue lashing out at their muscles as the only cue, a trumpet sounds. Strong. He almost shivers at the noise. A sigh of relief passes his lips, Pierre freezes.

— This is- ?

— Yes.

The horn which sounds the final retreat of enemy troops. At that moment, Charles comes on horseback towards them, a neutral look on his face.

— Any misunderstanding has been cleared up. Pierre ?

The Monegasque looks sweet on the prince who quickly understands that he wants him to ride with him.

— But Max you ...

He nods vaguely and the French prince pouts but finally climbs behind the youngest one who leaves as quickly as he arrived.

He stands there, bloody, as the last scent of the battle fades and the cries of joy ring out. He stands there, he led his army to victory, he has become one of the greatest strategists his country has ever carried, he is now king and there is really nothing left to hold it back or to avoid it.

He could cry of despair.

He feels it blooming deep within him, ready to bloom.

And could almost give it a more ironic dimension later.

He is seated in one of the lower rooms, changed, heals a last wound which he insisted on treating himself, to the great protests of all his servants. At that moment, Pierre disembarks, also stripped of his combat gear.

— You're not with Charles ?

— No. And you, I thought you were with Daniel ?

They stare in silence for a moment. He closes his eyes painfully, realizing once again. It’s not possible, it’s not true. But he's too scared to go check it out and let his doubts turn out. He thinks he can't take it.

He feels the sofa bend under the weight as the Frenchman sits down next to him and gently hugs him.

— Max ?  _ Mon cher ami _ , please look at me.

He recognizes the mother tongue of his companion. He finds it hard to do as he asks and reopening his eyes is an immeasurable effort on his mind.

— Don’t think about it. Everything is fine there now and that is the most important. More than anything.

Blue in blue.

He wants to tell his friend that  _ all is not going well, Pierre, Daniel has been cheating on me without scruple for years. _

But he is silent because he knows that the other is suffering as much as he is.

— We won. We didn't lose control in a fight and I think it's a positive thing anyway.

A vague smile stretches his tired lips.

— Shit. We're both so fucked up. It hurts. I know your stakes, I can't even help you, I hate myself you know. I love you too, we don't say it but still. You can cry, I won't say anything ...

This statement goes to his heart because it echoes his situation. And he feels tears burning his eyes before he even wants to cry. He shouldn't, he shouldn't be so weak.

When he later wakes up, a blanket has been wrapped around his body and he is alone on the couch. Daniel is leaning against the doorframe and looking at him with a thoughtful look on his face.

He sits up, rubbing one eye. The fabric slips off his shoulders. He feels tired, weary, very weary. He stands up.

— I want-

— Don't say anything, please. I can't take any more of your excuses, I would a thousand times prefer that you keep silent. Every time you lie to me, it's like you break what remains of my heart again.

Gasping breaths, half-told truths. He remains to stand in front of his husband. They stare at each other.

— I wish I was the one you could shed tears with.

— You shouldn't have been with Charles. Maybe you shouldn't have been the reason I shed them.

This time, the Italian leader is silent, downcast, and bites his lip heavily. He runs a hand through his hair. The conversation is already over. Inconclusive, like all the others they may have had. He slips away, turning away towards the hall.

His arm is gripped sharply.

— I will stop. Everything.

The older one has wide eyes, shortness of breath, and, oh, is that a glimmer of despair that he sees deep in his eyes.

— Please.

He can fall back. He can fall back into his arms because he never really knows how to resist Daniel, especially when he implores him like that, making him feel at fault for something that is not his purview and that will not change anyway the fact that they are united until death do you part.

He can fall back. Trying to forgive and still believe naively, stupidly, that his companion would end up changing, stop hurting him, as he had promised him there and the thousand and one more times before.

He can fall back.

But he won't. Because he can't go on indefinitely in this situation and they are close anyway, so close to the end that he won't let himself have a shred of hesitation.

— No. I don’t believe you anymore. It was a mistake from the start to marry you but for anyone it would have been the same. You are never satisfied and I foolishly believed that loving you was enough. I love you ... I love you and I'm sorry.

Max frees himself from the hold, he is strong enough for it, and the most astonishing thing is that Daniel does not return to the charge. Not even during the next few days which are tasteless. He feels disconnected. Is this the end ?

— Max please ...

He doesn't even answer Pierre’s calls. Closes there. A wall between his emotions and his homework. Between him and the King of the Netherlands.

Crowning with fire and blood, glitter to hide bitterness and an imperial face to hide his despair.

In the evening, on the balcony of his room, in the deepest solitude, he contemplates the stars, biding his time. Alex silently enters the room. George isn't even there. The counselor carefully deposits two objects.

— Choose Max.

A whisper.

And then the older one comes through the door. One day this boy was his friend. Today, he urges him to take up arms. Today, he can hardly see him as close.

And yet how Alex shuns him, how he doesn't stay long enough to learn his choice, as if seeing him decide breaks his heart.

Maybe it really breaks his.

He looks at the poison and the dagger, laid casually on the table, then his hands. His gaze goes back and forth.

— I ... I ...

He can kill Daniel. He can do it. He has already thought about it and it is freeing himself from a heavy burden. Of a husband who doesn't love him and who hurts him, of an unhappy existence, of problems he doesn’t know how to solve.

His country still needs him. The Netherlands still need him. He must rebuild, undo what his father did. Italy, on the other hand, can get by without its king. Then, anyway, he's been the one taking care of the main business lately.

He doesn't need Daniel. The world doesn't need Daniel.

Then he thinks of him. He thinks of his warm smile, of his soft hands that have run through his body, of his gaze, his tenderness, his words ... the only man he's ever really loved after all. Even if he was cheated, even if it was not reciprocated.

He thinks back to this gray world, so gray that he knew as a teenager. World that the oldest one gently lit up when he began to take care of him. He thinks of those happy years, before everything changed.

He tries to imagine a world where he wakes up without his husband by his side, a world in which he has never married this exuberant guy and has not put that ring around his finger. A world without Dan.

His hand closes around the dagger.

— I can’t do it.

It's hardly a whisper, a breath, but he needs to say it, to express it. It is so painful.

— I can't kill him.

And those few words, cruel, forbidden, finally seem to find their way to his lips as he lifts the knife to gain momentum.

— I love you, Dan.

Shoves it into his own chest. The pain takes his breath away. He staggers, staggers, blurry sight, gloomy in the dark, with the thought that it's better this way. No one should regret him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here it is. the tragic conclusion of the Netherlands. Because it is clear that Daniel, to Max's eyes, gave him too much for him to think about hurting him ... so Max prefered ending his days ... or not. It stays the next parts I'll translate very soon of course. We'll go check the others countries ...


End file.
